


Mounting Dwarvish Absurdities

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Khuzdul, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, An Unexpected Anniversary, Bilbo is So Done, Consort Bilbo Baggins, Cultural Differences, Domestic Fluff, Dwarf & Hobbit Cultural Differences, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Erebor Reclaimed, Established Relationship, Fluff, Innuendo, Khuzdul, King Thorin, M/M, Poor Bilbo, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield Is a Dork, Thorin is a Softie, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, implied foot kink, war rams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6666025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Thorin hooked his boot into the stirrup, slinging his right leg over with practised ease. All too soon he was looking down at the hobbit, arm reaching down invitingly. Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, sending a quick prayer to whichever Vala may be listening as he grasped the dwarf’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. It had been over a year since Bilbo had been forced this high off the ground, and he could not hide his startled gasp.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>“I will not let you fall, ghivashel,” Thorin promised, slinging an arm around Bilbo’s waist. “Are you ready?” he whispered, breath caressing Bilbo’s pointed ear.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>“No!” Bilbo cried.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>The dwarf merely snorted, clucking his tongue and jerking his leg slightly, and suddenly the ram was off.</em>
</p><p>In which Thorin convinces Bilbo to ride one of Erebor's mighty war rams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mounting Dwarvish Absurdities

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for An Unexpected Anniversary! Apologies for the pun-y title, hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Thank you tea-blitz for brainstorming ideas with me!

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Bilbo placed his hands on his hips, settling the dwarf in front of him with an unimpressed glare. Thorin hardly blinked, unfazed by the hobbit’s indignation.

“I know not what you mean, ghivashel,” he replied stiffly.

“Did you actually think I would set even _one foot_ near that - that _beast_?” Bilbo exclaimed.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed as the hobbit’s words hit their mark. “This is one of our finest battle rams,” he corrected icily, turning to give the monstrous creature an affectionate stroke along one of its dangerously long, curved horns. The creature snorted, wide nostrils flaring as it tilted its head into the King’s touch.

Bilbo most certainly did not yelp, nor did he jump away.

“It’s a glorified farm animal!” he yelled, hand over his furiously beating heart. “And I’m not getting on it!”

“You dare insult the ways of my people?” Thorin growled, though his words lacked any real heat.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Bilbo grumbled as he turned to leave. “I’m not getting on and that’s final!”

“I see,” Thorin conceded with a sigh. “I did not think you would be so easily frightened.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, hands throwing up in the air exasperatedly. “If you’re trying to goad me, may I remind you that I’m not some egotistical, clot-headed dwarf who will get himself _killed_ just to prove a point?”

“Not at all,” Thorin said, trying for an air of resignation as he leaned against the fence enclosing the animals in. He failed miserably. “I am merely surprised the brave hobbit who fearlessly stood against a dragon cannot bring himself to ride a perfectly tame _farm_ animal.” As he spoke, the King’s lips curved into a suspiciously triumphant smirk.

“Smaug was different,” Bilbo scoffed, unmoved by the taunt. “I had both feet securely planted on the ground at all times.” He gestured emphatically at the large appendages, currently nestled in some soft, sun-warmed grass.

“So it is a matter of keeping your unnaturally large, leather-soled, furry feet on the ground.”

“It is a matter of keeping my _respectably-sized_ feet on the ground,” Bilbo corrected, wagging his finger as he added, “And don’t act as though you don’t love my feet hair!”

“That is not a matter to discuss at the present,” Thorin said through clenched teeth, the fierceness of his growled reply lost somewhat as he looked away, cheeks visibly heating. “But if you wish, I will make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” Bilbo repeated, snorting in disbelief. “And what could you possibly offer me?”

“I will stop teaching you how to swim,” the King revealed triumphantly.

Bilbo blinked in surprise. It was a tempting offer - Thorin was a horrible teacher, not to mention Bilbo was a completely _unwilling_ pupil. His swimming lessons involved Thorin ambushing Bilbo in the underground pool they used for bathing, and trying to drag him, kicking and screaming, to the deep middle. Bilbo had taken to bathing only when Thorin was stuck in a meeting, and even then he did so as quickly as possible, looking around nervously for any attacking dwarf Kings.

Thorin’s smirk widened smugly as Bilbo pondered the deal. If there was one thing Bilbo hated more than the King’s defeated pout, it was his self-satisfied gloat.

“Fine,” Bilbo grumbled finally, ignoring the way his ridiculous betrothed preened obnoxiously.

 

It perhaps came as no surprise that prior to the Quest, Bilbo had no experience riding animals. While it was the sort of nonsensical, unrespectable behaviour his mother encouraged in Bilbo’s youth, a faunt was simply too small to ride. And as he grew older, and his parents passed away, Bilbo had pushed aside his scandalous ways and instead conformed to what hobbit society expected of him.

Bilbo could admit, a few weeks into the Quest, his pony Myrtle had wormed her way into his heart. He still thought of her sometimes, and sincerely hoped she found a safe home after the incident with the trolls. (He missed her less when he thought about how she had heartlessly abandoned him - the other ponies, he could accept. But Myrtle? He had given her _apples_!) But riding a pony, a beast he could admit was actually bred for riding, was where he drew the line. It seemed the other races did not feel the same.

Bilbo’s nose wrinkled at the stench as Thorin led him into the barn. As a hobbit, Bilbo loved the smell of nature, but this cloyingly strong mix of odours, sweet hay, the musk of animals with an undertone of manure, was frankly repugnant. Thorin looked instantly at home - he had foregone  his regal attire this morning (and really, that should have been Bilbo’s _first_ clue), instead wearing a simple tunic and trousers. As they walked through, all the animals poked their heads out, snorting stinky wet breaths at the newcomers. Bilbo grimaced and hunched his shoulders, trying his hardest to dodge all the boar and ram and pony heads butting at him. Thorin, on the other hand, reached out to stroke the animals, murmuring gently in Khuzdul as if personally greeting each one.

As they finally neared the end of the seemingly infinite barn, Thorin came to a stop. He approached one of the pens, making a strange clicking noise. Bilbo was about to ask if the King was having some sort of medical emergency when the giant head of a sheep emerged over the pen door. Its dangerously large head pushed forward, deadly horns gleaming in the faint light.

“Thorin, Thorin, umm - !” Bilbo’s panicked exclamations died in his throat as Thorin grinned, head bumping forward to gently nestle against the ram’s. “What’re you...Are you seriously bumping foreheads with a _sheep_?” the hobbit squeaked.

Thorin turned back to his betrothed, eyes sparkling with youthful excitement. “Bilbo, my love, meet Kurdhalw.”

“It… has a name?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin’s wide smile quickly fell, replaced with a fierce scowl. “ _His_ name is Kurdhalw.”

“Ah. Right.” Bilbo cleared his throat, awkwardly pulling at his ascot. “Can he also _understand_ us, Thorin?” he asked, eyeing his betrothed in genuine concern.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thorin snorted. Just as Bilbo began to relax, the King added, “He can understand our _tone_ , and yours is rather derisive.”

Bilbo’s lips pursed together as he held in a laugh. Thorin’s glare made it clear he was failing miserably. But as the dwarf continued to stare him down, Bilbo finally sighed and turning to the ram, saying, “I’m terribly sorry, um, Kurd-Kurdhalw, how rude of me.” He butchered the name quite terribly, but continued with his pretend greeting nevertheless, “I am Bilbo. How nice to meet you.” Instinct had him sticking out a hand, though he quickly dropped it back to his side.

“Better,” Thorin grunted as he heaved a saddle from a nearby wall. Unlatching the pen door, he walked inside, pinning Bilbo with a look when the hobbit failed to follow.

“Oh, right,” Bilbo murmured, feeling a tad faint as he entered the pen. Dry hay crackled under his feet as he shuffled inside, flattening himself against the door. Just in case.

“He no longer tries to buck out of his saddle,” Thorin said, sounding oddly proud.

“How lovely,” Bilbo replied weakly.

“He has already been brushed,” Thorin commented as he ran a hand through the ram’s long hair. “I need only to tack him, then we may ride.”

“Oh,” Bilbo squeaked. “Ah, good.”

Bilbo stepped back as Thorin went to work, throwing the saddle onto Kurdhalw’s back. In spite of the King’s words, the animal starting squirming his back and walking around, obviously trying to shake off the equipment.

Thorin let him have his moment, simply running his fingers down his flank until the animal settled. He murmured to him in Khuzdul ceaselessly, stroking his fur and keeping him calm. Bilbo had to admit the way Thorin acted around the beast was quite heart-warming. He was gentle and tender, treating him like a beloved family member rather than just some tool for war.

“He is ready,” Thorin declared dramatically, turning to give Bilbo a wide smile.

The ram was fully tacked, a saddle secured over his back and a bridle enclosing his muzzle, reins looped around to rest at the nape of its neck.

“Right,” Bilbo muttered. “So I guess I just - umm, perhaps you should…”

“I will mount first,” Thorin offered, “If that will make you feel more comfortable. Then I will pull you up.”

Bilbo nodded frantically. “Please do.”

Thorin hooked his boot into the stirrup, slinging his right leg over with practised ease. All too soon he was looking down at the hobbit, arm reaching down invitingly.

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, sending a quick prayer to whichever Vala may be listening as he grasped the dwarf’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. It had been over a year since Bilbo had been forced this high off the ground, and he could not hide his startled gasp. His hands clenched the horn of the saddle until his knuckles turned white, inner thighs straining against the unfamiliar stretch.

Thorin’s chest vibrated against Bilbo’s back as the dwarf chucked. “I will not let you fall, ghivashel,” Thorin promised, slinging an arm around Bilbo’s waist. “Are you ready?” he whispered, breath caressing Bilbo’s pointed ear.

“No!” Bilbo cried.

The dwarf merely snorted, clucking his tongue and jerking his leg slightly, and suddenly the ram was off. With jerking movements it strutted towards the  grassy outside. The gait was not unlike that of a pony, but far more jolting. The ram’s heavy body rocked side to side with each step, leaving Bilbo startlingly unbalanced. He found himself swaying left and right, unable to keep steady. Apparently it was quite amusing to Thorin, who had no problem maintaining his posture even without anything to hold onto.

“Help me!” Bilbo cried as the ram began to quicken his pace, excited by the prospect of a ride.

“Slow down, sweet one,” Thorin ordered softly as he pulled on the reins ever so slightly. The ram snorted, causing Bilbo to yelp as it swung its great horns.

“I-I see where he gets his impatience,” Bilbo joked, somewhat hysterically.

“I will take you for a proper ride when we are done,” Thorin promised, one hand leaving the reins to stroke the ram’s curved horn.

“Are you talking to me or the sheep?” Bilbo asked, smiling slightly as Thorin’s head fell back in laughter. Bilbo found himself laughing as well, growing surprisingly more at ease astride the great beast.

“Let us work on your posture,” Thorin said as the ram began a loop around the pen. He rested one hand on the nape of the creature’s neck, holding both reins as the other moved to grasp Bilbo’s shoulder. “Keep your shoulders back,” he instructed. “And your back straight. Chin up and look forward.”

“Actually, I’m quite happy how I am,” Bilbo informed him, shoulders hunched forward as his wide eyes stayed glued to the precariously moving ground below.

“Bilbo.” Thorin sighed his name, as though speaking to one of his vexing nephews instead of his perfectly rational betrothed. “It will help keep you from falling.”

Bilbo grumbled under his breath, letting out more than one curse towards dwarves and their unnatural hobbies. But finally he straightened his spine, shoulders rolling back as his chin lifted, the hobbit fighting to lift his gaze.

“Your back is too stiff,” Thorin warned.

“What? You said straighten it!” Bilbo yelled.

Thorin’s hand rested on his spine. “Keep your back straight but loose,” he guided. “You want to be flexible. Your body should move naturally with Kurdhalw’s steps.”

Relaxing his tense muscles proved to be a difficult feat, but Bilbo tried his best to follow Thorin’s instructions. The longer they walked around the pen, the easier it became. Bilbo lost himself in the soothing rocking motion, not even realizing he had relaxed until Thorin spoke.

“Much better,” the dwarf complimented, pressing a kiss to the back of Bilbo’s head. “Should we go a little faster?” he teased, laughing at Bilbo’s indignant squawk.

“We are already going faster than any hobbit has the right to!” he yelled.

“A few more paces and I will let you down, ghivashel,” Thorin vowed.

By the time it was over, Bilbo was almost - _almost_ \- disappointed. Thorin swung off first, leaving Bilbo alone astride the beast for a terrifying few seconds before helping him down. The hobbit breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of _ground_ beneath his feet, steady and unmoving.

“Surely it was not that terrible,” Thorin grumbled at his hobbit’s theatrics.

“No,” Bilbo found himself admitting as he leaned against the pen wall, taking deep, calming breaths.

“Then I shall take you again.”

“Sure, sure,” Bilbo mumbled, too busy thanking the Valar for his safe return for the words to sink in. When they finally did, he spun around, mouth falling open. “You most certainly shall not!” he yelled.

But Thorin had already re-mounted and was spurring the ram on, his long hair flowing in the wind as they raced off.

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of something fierce and intimidating in battle, the ram’s name, Kurdhalw, literally translates to sweetheart. (Kurd = heart, halw = sweet.) We all already knew Thorin was a softie, but this is a new level of dorkdom.


End file.
